Chapter 55: THE WARLORD

AUTHOR'S NOTE - You are reading this chapter prior to the final draft for public release. This will be updated with the final version once i

AUTHOR'S NOTE - You are reading this chapter prior to the final draft for public release. This will be updated with the final version once it is complete. As always, we'd love to hear any feedback you might have! Thank you again for continuing this journey!

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Warlord Trufang’s stronghold was a three story affair wooden affair, constructed on a hefty stone foundation. The gently sloping rise increased a little less than ten meters in elevation but it still towered over the surrounding village. Judging by the stumps that dotted the edge of the woods and the overabundance of stone nearby, its rustic, dark, hand-hewn wood had likely been sourced from the forest that at one point covered much of its footprint.

In the shadow of the trees they had all changed their gear, donning the required uniform. Though the colors of the fabric was generic, each container (COLORS), the telltale markings of (WARLORD2), their closest neighbor. Even under the cover of darkness, Risens tracked the progress of the assassins as they crossed the open space between the forest and the wooden fence. One after another their silhouetted forms appeared as they vaulted over the low pickets. Risens moved separate from the group, following the shoreline to the edge of the hill. From there he would follow the water, climbing up the wall and entering from the rear of the complex.

Their mission was one and the same though their targets had now diverged. They would all clear the stone wall at once intent on causing as much silent mayhem as possible. Feylen and Bakka were charged with securing the walkway that stretched along the top of the wall. Orio and Korpis, his silent partner would follow in their wake, eliminating any on duty at the gate. Destra would see to those who patrolled the grounds. From their vantage point on the hill, they had counted less than twenty soldiers who guarded the place. Aside from the main structure, there was only one outbuilding inside the complex and judging by it occupants was merely a personal stable of the warlord. Any number could lay in wait inside the palatial building though something about it didn’t feel right.

The heavy wooden gate that blocked the path held the largest volume of troops he had seen. Nearly double the number held that position, the barracks stretching out nearby likely house another few hundred at most. This village seemed less like one on the verge of war with another nation, more like one merely sleeping. They seemed prepared for whatever may descend from the rigors of the pass though oblivious to anything more.

The sleepy lake lapped quietly on she bank of the shore and Risens stalked by. Climbing the gentle rise brought him to the edge of the wall where the it met the sheer face of the cliff. Looking into the placid waters of the lake below, he wasn’t sure if a fall from this point would be anything more dangerous than to the temporary bruise on one’s ego.

Where the stone wall met the face of the cliff a narrow metal barrier of sorts had been erected, preventing anyone intent on trespassing from merely stepping around the edge of the wall to the gardens beyond. As his feet settles on the grass a moment later he recognized how laughably pathetic the attempt was. Likely foiling the village drunks and adventurous youths, anyone with a modicum of talent, or any with ill intent, as it seemed would have no difficulty navigating the blockade.

Padding carefully across the grassy lip, he surveyed the courtyard beyond the bushes. Comfortable benches ringed a small circular pond in the center, while several topiaries in the the shape of various creatures watched from the borders of the ring of perfectly arranged stones. The first two floors and their respective balconies were dark, only a light on the third floor flickered softly in the darkness.

The lack of soldiers, and apparent life was alarming. He had negotiated his way through and around traps much of his remebered life, yet this felt wholly different. For one trained to trust his gut and instincts, there was nothing malicious here. It felt as if the manor was purely enjoying a night’s rest, not prepared in any way for the death that lurked in its shadows

Stepping over the low hedge, Risens immediately cursed his earlier assumption as the familiar whirring of a sentinel buzzed like a swarm of anger insects in the night. A few meters to his right, a lone sentinel struggled to rise. One arm hung limp at its side, the other bent at an awkward angle sprouted duel blades that looked more like scissors than blades. In totality, it had the appearance on something meant to prune the hedges, not repel an attack from a determined assassin.

Risen had no tike to contemplate the innocuous looking mechanism. Having faced far too many of them in the last few days with relatively the same degree of deficiency, he wasted no time dealing with this one. Whipping the talons from their sheathes he darted toward the sentinel, swinging a vicious thrust at where the neck would have been.

The irrational movement of the blade threw his body off its axis, shifting the stab that followed slightly upward, near where the limp hanging arm met the body. Without a sound the blade slipped though the seam into the gears and magic within. With a sputter, like a sickened cough it struggled to maintain its flight though it made no attempt to attack.

Grabbing it with both hands he heaved the sentinel over the low barrier of hedges. The choking and sputtering of the blade that kept it aloft silenced in a muted splash as it reached the water below. The symbols in the corners of his vision flashed lower.

“Put us away. You are not worthy.”

Over the continued insults and protests of the weapons he ducked into the shadows keeping the blades in his hands. The sudden noise of the sentinel had been quiet, yet in the depth of the night, it likely would have been noted.

It should have been noted.

As the moments stretched on, nothing but the natural sounds of the night floated around him. No shrill whistles of alarms, no angered cries of warning. Just crickets chirping peacefully in the grass. Risens quieted the blade by sliding them.back into their sheaths as another digit faded from the countdown.

Moving rapidly through the grass, he increased his speed to a sprint as he neared the fluted column. Leaping on his last stride, he planted his foot of the carved wood, surging upward as he swarmed up to the second level of the Warlord’s estate. Again, he paused in th shadows of the balcony, waiting for the sounds of panic or alarm. Hearing neither warning nor even any motion, he jumped to the railing before springing to grab ahold of the floor above. Peering cautiously over the edge he assessed the scene before him.

A small wash of muted light illuminated the upper level of the porch that extended from the rear of the house. Beside the pair of tables ringed with chairs and the comfortable looking couch, not a soul moved. The windows that ran along the entire edge of the patio offering a view into the solitary room beyond. The expansive space was no doubt the home for none other than the target he sought.

Warlord Trufang.

Splitting the wall of windows in two equal parts, a pair of iron-framed glass doors we open, allowing the cool breeze to enter. A mild floral aroma crept under the gentle wind as it was forced from the room by the entrance of the crisp night air. Seated at a table inside, his back the patio a man scratched away at a parchment, paying no mind to his surroundings.

Risens hoisted himself up, his feet landing silently on the wooden balcony. He drew on of the talons from his sheath as he stalked into the chamber. The rumblings of the blade increased, though with every step closer the insults quieted as the anticipation of the kill increased.

The room was spacious and equipped with furniture made of matching rich wood. Several evenly spaced, thick wooded pillars held the high, patterned ceiling aloft. Vibrantly colored paintings of scenery highlighted the dark wood of the walls. The door to the darkened hallway beyond was open, yet no sound filtered through the gap. Nowhere did he see images of the mam’s lineage or of the Warlords conquests. Nothing was gilded in gold. The absence of the expected mindless opulence was peculiar as it was refreshing. He was only a few steps away when the quiet sound of the man scratching away at his paper ceased. He stretched as he rose gingerly from his chair, his eyes going wide as he noticed Risens’s presence.

There was nothing overtly threatening about the Warlord. Appearance had never mattered to the completion if his tasks nor would it start now, but the continued observations added up into a confusing mix of discrepancies in his mind. Looks were often times deceiving, yet the man, athletic as he was pushing into the latter years of his life had the build of a farmer, not a fighter. He wore a small knife on his hip, one likely used for dressing game not cutting human flesh.

Risens grabbed the man roughly by the collar, dragging him across to the nearest pillar, propping him up with a hand over his mouth and a blade to his throat.

“Warlord Trufang, I presume,” Risens growled. His mission had been to eliminate the man, yet the opportunity, no matter how tainted it was by the desire to survive could prove invaluable. The truth was generally easy to decipher from the errant lies and fabrications used in a desperate attempt to prolong the life of one sentenced to death.

Risens had seen images of the man on occasion of his studies as he had of all the rulers of the surrounding provinces, so he knew the mark was true. As it was, his focus and learning had been heavily centered on the internal actor whose influence could more easily be a detriment to the Kingdom. Holding the man’s life in his hands, he realized how woefully educated he a was on Shial, their politics or overall threat.

That his King had ordered the Warlord’s death was enough. He stood in the way of transporting the precious food vital to keeping the people of Halthome fed.

The man nodded his head quickly in small motions, his eyes still bulging with fear.

“Call out for assistance and I will slit you throat before any will hear your cries. I need information,” Risens hissed. He only needed to wait a moment before the subtle acknowledgment was given with another nod.

“There are none to respond who would do you any harm, in any event,” he croaked. His voice was surprisingly steady for one held at knifepoint. “There are nothing but servants, cooks and maids. They wield mops and pans, not blades.”

“Where are your soldiers?”

“As you’ve no doubt noticed, there is only a skeleton crew here,” Trufang explained. The man, compromised as he was worked to keep his hands outstretched from his body and intentionally well away from the blade at his hip.

“The bulk of my soldiers sent to assist the neighboring village of PROVINCE yesterday,” he explained. “When heavy rains fall in the mountains, the river downstream floods. The extraordinary amount that’s fallen in the last few days will have had a devastating effect. I”ve sent them to assist however they can, whether it be rescue, or recovery. We are insulated from the river while they are not.”

Risens had interrogated more than he cared to remember over his years of service. He understood how to read people. Understood outright deceit from the truth. He struggled to find the fabrications in the man’s words.

“What are you planning with the Dreamcatchers? Why are your soldiers manning the concealed outpost to block Breakker’s Pass?” Risens inquired. Even with the placating, honest answers his mark, he would not allow complacency or intrigue to cloud his preparation.

“Dreamcatchers? Outposts in the mountains? Young man, what are you talking about?” Trufang sputtered. “We are but simple farmers here. We have excess grain and your Kingdom has the need. It’s better to turn a profit, than let it go to rot. The King’s emissaries, Lord’s Caervis and Theroulde were here not more than a month since. We reached an agre-”

Blood spurted from his mouth, covering his words in a gurgle as the stained end of a blade punched through his throat.